road. I could tame this beast without getting my heart broken or my body parts munched on for dinner.
Back in human form, Zane examined the coin on the way to our next stop — Miles McCray’s trailer park — Plum Beach murder victim number two’s less than pristine property.
Miles, a high school dropout, had been working at the local ARCO station for the past ten years, content to stay close to his parents. One news clip stated his mother still referred to him as her “little champ.” Family members observed that Miles was what you might call simple or slow; a man still dependent on his mom. Friends called him an all-around nice guy.
After pouring over a blurry satellite photo, I’d dug up on the Internet, it was clear just how overcrowded the trailer park was. Zane determined with so many trailers jammed into such a crowded space we’d be safer waiting for nightfall before entering Miles’ singlewide. He’d also enlisted help from Alcuin, whose vampire talents would provide the edge we needed.
The vampire would manipulate the thoughts of nearby neighbors, while shielding us from any observant onlookers. Well known for its all-night parties and drug deals, it was doubtful neighbors went to bed before dawn.
Zane thought it was wise for us to drive through and examine the layout prior to our evening excursion.
“Slow down. There! The gravel road.” He motioned me right, clenching the coin.
“Thanks,” I grumped, still annoyed by his behavior at the Smart’s place. He’d somewhat redeemed himself using his little handless trick to clean up the potted tree, but I hadn’t completely forgiven his attitude.
“Can we call a truce? It’s hard enough visiting murder scenes without us fighting,” he suggested, sounding remorseful.
He was right, now wasn’t the time to nurse any left over grudges. I nodded and forced a smile. “You’re forgiven, for the moment.” I realized I didn’t so much doubt his skills as I hated not knowing what extra talents remained hidden. My tolerance for surprises, and secrets, had reached an all-time low.” Spotting the turnoff, I flipped the blinker.
“Pull over!” His eyes narrowed. “There are mutants here. I feel them.”
Obeying without question, I parked as close as I could to the entrance without drawing attention.
I sent out my own mental feelers and validated Zane’s suspicions. The mutants hadn’t bothered shielding their thoughts. They weren’t expecting company. Good news for us. Wanting to take advantage of our momentary luck, I probed the creature’s minds and prepared to transmit my findings into Zane’s. I was stunned to realize my special abilities had expanded again.
This time, I was able to hitch a ride in one of the mutant’s minds, similar to what I’d done with Zane during the Detective Davis Fiasco at his place. I could actually feel what the creature felt, see everything he saw, and hear what he heard. Talk about a triple threat.
It took me a minute to digest the multitude of unfamiliar sensations bombarding my senses and filter the information in a logical way that Zane could grasp.
I was viewing my surroundings from inside one of three mutants who crouched in the cramped trailer digging through drawers and a large box. I assumed the confined space belonged to murder victim number two: Miles McCray.
The terrible trio’s elongated snouts lifted in unison, twitching as they sought any foreign scents. I feared they’d pinpointed us.
Relieved to be wrong, I sighed when they resumed searching.
My newfound ability to listen from inside a mutant wasn’t the same as being the mutant. I had the capacity to view the entire scene and remain in total control of myself. Influencing the monster’s thoughts or actions wasn’t possible either. For that I was grateful. Managing that kind of power wasn’t something I wanted. Especially since I couldn’t begin to grasp what I was doing anymore.
Leaving my analysis for later, I honed in on my environment as experienced through my mutant host.
The largest of the three beasts stood with a guttural grunt. He towered in the cluttered trailer; his pointy ears brushing the ceiling. This massive and cruelly malformed man-wolf filled the limited space.
What should have been hands were a grotesque permutation of paws and claws; just a hint of humanness remained. The five twisted appendages, featuring an oversized thumb, scarcely mirrored a human hand riddled with arthritis. Filthy, spike-like-nails protruded from the furry tips — nails that would slit a throat like a hot knife slicing butter.
Had we been friends, I would have recommended, without delay, a manicure for